


A Lesson In Anger Management

by lydslibrary



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aftercare, Corporal Punishment, Dom Dean Winchester, Dom/sub, Domestic Discipline, F/M, Punishment, SPN - Freeform, Sir Kink, Spanking, Supernatural - Freeform, sub Reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:27:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24729688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lydslibrary/pseuds/lydslibrary
Summary: During an argument, you lose your temper and try and hit Dean. You end up with a real sore behind.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 85





	A Lesson In Anger Management

You can feel the anger inside you about to reach its boiling point.

“Dean, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can we move on?” You asked, as calmly as you could. You and Dean had just gotten back to the motel from a hunt and had been arguing the whole way home. Dean crossed his arms over his chest and looked at you, his eyebrows raised.

“No. We can’t. Why didn’t you follow my instructions?” He questioned sternly, taking a step closer to you. You clenched your fists by your side, feeling as though you might explode. You had terrible anger management skills, and when you were this angry, your first resort for getting your anger out was hitting — and you were not about to let yourself hit Dean. You took a deep breath.

“Dean, I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” you said through gritted teeth, hoping, for your sake, that he’d drop it. You knew if you lost it on him it would probably end with you over his knee, and not in the way that you liked.

“Well, I hate to break it to you sweetheart, but we’re not just going to be done talking about something because you don’t want to talk about it anymore. Why did you disobey my direct orders on that hunt!?” He questioned, his voice getting louder. You felt something inside you snap, and before you could stop yourself, you were hurling your open palm at him, with all the force you could muster. You were caught off guard when your strike is stopped by Dean catching you by the wrist. He raised his eyebrows at you again, his mouth open in disbelief, and you realized what you had just done.

“Dean, I —,” you began, attempting to explain yourself.

“Uh-uh. Save it,” he said, adjusting his grip on your wrist and pulling a chair out from the dining room table set in the motel room. Before you knew it, you were over his knee, as you had predicted. “You want to hit; I’ll show you how it feels.”

“Dean, I —,” you began again, only to be interrupted by a sharp smack on your behind.

“I am not your friend right now,” he hissed. You pushed a gulp to the back of your throat. “Try again.”

“Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t realize what I was doing,” you said, hoping, no, praying, that Dean would have a little mercy on you. You had never lost it on him like that before, so you knew whatever punishment you were about to receive was probably going to be one of the worst ones yet.

“Why are you over my knee right now?” He asked calmly. You could sense his initial anger had left him, and now all that was left under his surface was disappointment.

“Because I tried to hit you, sir,” you whimpered, the realization of what you had done sinking further into you.

“And do we hit when we’re angry?”

“No, sir.”

“Am I ever angry when I punish you?” Dean asked. You felt guilty as you realized that no, Dean had never spanked you while he was angry, he had always calmed down and explained to you why you’re getting punished.

“No, sir,” you replied, grabbing a leg of the chair with one hand and wrapping your other arm around Dean’s leg, clutching the hem of his jeans. You were in for quite the punishment, and you knew it.

“This is serious, Y/N. We’re breaking this habit right now,” he said sternly, rubbing circles on your backside with his open palm. You braced yourself for the first hit, lunging forward when it came. You hissed through your teeth. _OK, that one wasn’t too bad_ , you thought to yourself _._ Dean continued to rain down swats on your ass, and you were only hoping that he would keep your jeans on, which was nothing but wishful thinking. After what seemed like hours, although it was probably only two or three minutes, the swats stopped. You let yourself breathe out the air that you didn’t even realize you were holding in. Then you felt Dean reach around and unbutton your jeans, slowly shimmying them off your body. _Man, I chose the wrong day to not wear underwear_ , you thought. Dean pulled your jeans down to your ankles, letting out a soft chuckle when he realized that you had not worn any underwear today. “Look at that, it’s all nice and warmed up,” Dean said in reference to your tingling ass.

“Sir, how much more?” You asked, sassier than intended, but you were trying to comprehend the weight of what’d you’d done and how severe your punishment would be. The question earned a swift smack on your ass, and you were instantly reminded of how hard Dean could hit.

“I’m spanking you until I feel as though you’ve learned that hitting is not an appropriate way to deal with your anger. I love you, and want you to know that I am doing this for your own good. You seem to learn best when I bust your butt, so if that’s what I need to do, I’m going to do it, Y/N,” Dean said, sternly yet calmly. You were comforted by his voice, and you knew you could trust him to punish you in a way that would get through to you.

“Yes, sir,” you said, your voice lined with a quiver. You winced as the first few smacks meet your already tingling ass, and you knew that it was about to get a lot worse. After about ten, it really started to hurt. Your ass was on fire, and you could feel your face getting flushed as well. You buried it deeper into Dean’s jeans, and when the hardest hit fell and you let out a loud yelp as you kicked your feet up. Dean swiftly put his leg over the both yours, trapping you in between his thighs. He continued to deliver swats to your ass with his large calloused hand. You counted in your head as his palm met each cheek, _one, two, three... nine, ten._ Then he stopped.

“Stand up,” he commanded, releasing the hold he had on your legs. You did as you were told. “Step out of your jeans and go get the hairbrush.”

You gulped nervously and quickly stepped out of your jeans and walked slowly to the bathroom to get the wooden hairbrush that Dean loved to use for your worst punishments. _At least it’s not the belt,_ you thought to yourself, opening the drawer that the hairbrush was in.

“The longer you take, the longer I’ll take!” You heard Dean yell from the other room. You quickly grabbed the hairbrush and swiftly walked over to him, placing it in his outstretched palm. He grabbed the hairbrush with one hand and your wrist with the other, pulling you back over one of his knees, trapping you between his thighs again. You reached behind your back and opened and closed your hand, a silent way of asking for Dean to hold it. He obliged and squeezed it, reassuring you that you’d get through whatever was about to happen. “Why are you getting punished?” Dean asked for the second time, making sure that you knew why you were in the position that you were in.

“Because I lost my temper, sir,” you replied, swallowing anxiously.

“And almost did what?”

“Hit you, sir,” you said, guilt taking over you. You were truly upset with yourself.

“Good. You remember why you’re over my knee getting your hide tanned then. Now, _count_ ,” Dean demanded, and you nodded, bracing yourself for what was to come. Dean let a painful smack down on your bare behind with the wooden brush, and you let out a yelp.

“One,” you counted, bracing yourself for the next one. You let yourself relax when you realized that Dean had stopped.

“Tsk, tsk. Y/N, you should know better by now to not forget to address me,” Dean scolded, and your stomach turned when you had realized that you had forgotten something so simple.

“I’m sorry! One, sir,” you squeaked, trying to correct yourself, hoping it would suffice. It didn’t. Dean smacked you again, harder, a whimper escaping your lips.

“Start over. _Do not forget to address me again_ ,” he said, waiting for your reply.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry,” you pleaded, “One, _sir_.”

Dean smacked you again, even harder. You hissed from the pain. “Two, sir.” Each blow delivered was harder than the last, the time between them shortening. “TWELVE, sir!” You yelled, tears welling up in your eyes. You weren’t sure how much more you could take, although you knew you deserved it. To your relief, Dean set the hairbrush down on the table behind him and began gently rubbing your ass with his hand again. His touch was soothing.

“Do you think it’s sinking in?” He asked, squeezing your hand that was still being held in his.

“Yes, sir,” you sniffled.

“Good girl. We’re almost done,” he said, leaning over to kiss you on the top of your head, “Kneel down for me and take my belt off.” Your stomach did a somersault. _Fuck._ You knelt down quickly in front of him and looked up at him with the most extreme puppy dog eyes you could muster.

“Sir, please, I —,” you started to beg, hoping you could get him to go a little bit easier on you. You knew how badly the belt would hurt. Instead, Dean grabbed your chin and leaned in, his nose almost touching yours.

“Baby, I know your ass burns like hell right now, but my goal is that you’re reminded of what you did today every time you sit down for the next few days. This is for your own good and you know it. You have a safe word, and you know what it is. If you truly cannot take anymore, say it,” Dean said, looking at you and raising his eyebrows in question. You looked at the floor. You could take more. You knew it and Dean knew it. And the both of you also knew that you deserved it. What you had done was a major offense. “No? You can keep going? Good. Take. My. Belt. Off,” Dean said sternly, releasing his grasp on your chin. You obeyed, dreading what was to come as you unbuckled the leather strap and pulled it out of its belt loops. You stood up and placed it in Dean’s outstretched palm. “Bend over the bed,” he commanded. You quickly took the position, wanting this to be over as soon as possible. One lick with the belt was all it took to release the tears that you were holding in. “Do we think we learned our lesson?” Dean asked, about 4 licks in.

“Y-yes, s-sir,” you sniffled. He hadn’t stopped with the belt, so you couldn’t catch your breath. Each lick stung even worse than the last.

“And what was the lesson?” Dean asked, continuing to deliver stings to your ass. You were audibly sobbing at this point, partly because of the pain and partly because of how disappointed you were in yourself.

“Th-that w-we never” — _SMACK_ — “n-NEVER hit o-out of anger!” One last smack was delivered to your stinging ass as you completed the sentence. Your face was wet with tears and your ass was absolutely throbbing. You heard Dean set the belt on the bed as he promptly stood you up and sat down where you had been bent over. He helped you find a semi-comfortable seat on his lap, wrapping you in a tight hug.

“Shh, it’s OK, Y/N, you did so well,” he reassured you as he wiped away your tears. He kissed you on the forehead and pulled you closer into his chest. “Are you OK?” He asked, genuine concern in his voice.

“Mm-hm,” you replied, still trying to catch your breath.

“You’re going to think twice now before hitting, huh?”

You nodded aggressively. _Hell yeah, I was,_ you thought _._

“Your ass is going to have a few bruises, I’ll bet. Do you want me to get some cream?”

You nodded again, wiping away more tears.

“Okay, lay back down on the bed and I’ll get you some.”

You do as you’re told, laying down on the bed on your stomach, your ass coming in contact with the cool air. You whimpered a little as Dean came back with the cream and rubbed it onto your throbbing ass, but it started to feel better almost instantly. You felt yourself relax as Dean continued caring for you, and you slowly drifted off to sleep.


End file.
